"Ha, ha! How lugubrious a countenance for a favoured lover! As doleful as a bee who's lost his sting! When do we propose to marry? Never keep a lady waiting!"
"What do you mean?" stammered Phebus, mopping his brow.
"Madame de Vaux expects you to propose for Angelique."
"But I don't want to marry Angelique."
"What! Not the delightful shoot from the family tree of which we hear so much? Like the Indian banyan its proportions darken the sky. Why not--tell me?"
"Because I do not wish to marry at all," replied Phebus.
"And why--and why--and why?" laughed Pharamond, in elfish mood. "Nay, do not tell me. Cannot I read into your erring soul as through a sheet of dirty glass? Because you are hopelessly enamoured of your brother's handsome wife!"
Phebus started and turned scarlet.
"Don't look so exasperatingly sheepish! you quivering mass of jelly," sneered Pharamond.
An explosion of laughter resounded through the wood and ceased, and the glitter shone forth again.